


Drabbles from Prompts and Drabbles from Prompts 2: Electric Boogaloo

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Arcades, Attention-seeking, Body Hair, Breakfast in Bed, Car repair, Carnival, Cats, Common Cold, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Domestic, Embarrassment, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Freckles, Gen, Guns, Hunting, Jack-o'-lanterns, Kissing, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Meeting the Parents, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Pancakes, Pumpkins, Sweat, Vehicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A combination of two series of short drabbles done from prompts given to me by Tumblr users at my request.  Pure, saccharine fluff.<br/>Requester's screenname is presented as the chapter title for each drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. uber-chunks

“I'm tellin' ya, Py, I am the skee-ball master. Ain't nobody can beat me,” Scout boasted, tossing the wooden ball up and down with one hand as he stood before the flashing arcade machine, the rattling and whizzing of other games on the carnival line-up filling the air.

“I dunno,” Pyro hemmed, scratching their head and inspecting their own ball, holding it between steepled fingers and tracing the lines of the wood with intent eyes. “I thought you were more a hitting, throwing kinda guy. You have to finesse skee-ball, Scout.”

“You think I ain't got finesse? Let me tell you, my flame-retardant friend,” he poked Pyro in their chest, making the stout firebug teeter a bit onto their heels, “I got finesse. I AM finesse. I got it comin' out my ears! Finesse is my middle name!”  
“I thought your middle name was Eugene.”

“Will you just roll the damn ball?”


	2. annalaatikko

Heavy awoke to the sound of rattling dishware, his eyes slowly dragging themselves open. His eyes felt swollen. His face felt swollen. His whole head felt swollen. Tiny daggers stabbed at his dry throat, and he couldn't breathe through his nose. Good to see his cold had not packed up and left in the night.

“Guten morgen, mein schatz,” Medic greeted in a tone far more gentle and sing-song that should be allowed at such hours of the day on a weekend. In his hands, he bore a tray. “Sit up, liebe. I've made you some breakfast. You can eat here and stay in bed today, to rest up and recover.”

The giant smiled, pushing himself up to be seated as best he could, the thick slurry of mucus that seemed to make up the very being of his skull making him dizzy in the process. “Doktor, is not necessary--”

“You will stay in bed and heal. Doktor's orders.”

“Yes, Doktor. Spaciba. What have you made for me?”

Medic set down the tray in Heavy's lap, smiling broadly. A large bowl containing pierced and mixed soft-boiled eggs sat at the center, flanked by a stack of buttered toast, and a glass of orange juice. “Your favourite breakfast, and plenty of it. Try not to get too many crumbs in the bed.”

“I make no promises,” Heavy warned with a smile, taking a deep, unflattering sniff to try and clear his sinuses before digging in to his food.


	3. ashypeen

"That should have it, Stretch!" Engineer announced, closing the hood after one final check. His hands and arms were coated in grime and grease, his fingers black. Sweat dripped down his brow and shoulders, and ran down his bare back, his shirt having long since been tossed aside in the desert heat, in favour of not overheating underneath of the hulking camper van.

Sniper watched those errant sweat drops sliding down the Texan's shoulder blades to run the remaining length of his back along the crease of his spine. He'd gone to fetch his mechanically-inclined boyfriend when his van was starting take on a rather offensive smell, and began overheating. Turns out it had been a leak in one of the vacuum hoses leading coolant to his radiator. Engineer had assured him it would be a snap, and indeed, for him it was. But watching his lover work, watching him shed first his overshirt to the heat, then his undershirt to fashion into a makeshift shop rag, that was certainly not so much a snap.

Getting him to join him in the back of the van, however, proved far easier than either endeavor.


	4. anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a chunk of fiction by writingcyan, which in turn was based on an art piece by 20-week-old-fetus.  
> (http://writingcyan.tumblr.com/post/63249096326/20-week-old-fetus-idk-but-awkward-i-guess)

"Are you breakin' up with me?"

Sniper's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping as his brows furrowed. His head shook vigorously as he mouthed at the air silently, trying to slow the words that came crashing against him to a trickle so that he could actually speak them. His hand shot out and grabbed hold of Scout's, sliding it toward him as the smaller man leaned on his other, waiting for the bushman to break the news. "No, why-- How-- What would make you think that?"

Scout sniffed, "Softenin' the blow by makin' me my favourite breakfast, right?'

At once, the taller man had rounded the table, scooping the American up into his arms and crushing him to his chest, pressing kisses against his forehead to chase away the tears he saw approaching. "No, no, nothing like that! I wanted to surprise you! Do somethin' sweet for you!" He tilted Scout's chin up and looked him in the eyes, a smile crooking the corner of his mouth. "I am capable of doing sweet things once in a while, you know."

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a relieved sob escaped the younger man, and he wrapped his arms tight around Sniper, planting a kiss on the taller man's chin.


	5. anonymous

"He really doesn't even care?" Demoman asked, pulling Elisa closer, letting her weight shift comfortably as she half-laid atop him, her cheek resting at the junction of his deltoid and pectoral. Her hair fell about his arm, unbound tresses of gold and silver, tickling the pit of his elbow.

Laughter met his question, Elisa's hand petting circles at the center of his chest. "You really need to relax. No, he does not care. It's a marriage in name only, and he seems quite content with that big Russian fellow he's with. Now, can we stop talking about my husband and get back to snuggling?"

"How can I say nae?" the Scotsman teased, pressing a kiss to the top of Elisa's head. "Mmm, you ken I love you."

"And I love you too, Schatz. And maybe someday I'll be calling you my husband."

The warm arms holding Elisa released her from their embrace as Demoman stretched them above his head in an exaggerated yawn, "Aye, well, I've got an early meeting in the mornin', so I ought to probably just--"  
  
"If you leave this bed you're never returning to it."

Demoman's arms quickly circled back around the German, tugging her back into the half-hug she'd been enjoying. "Ah--aye."


	6. weeniehatjrs

"That is not how you carve a pumpkin! What are you even doing?" Soldier barked, leaning over Demoman's shoulder to squint disdainfully at the bomber's work.

Demoman frowned, setting down the knife he'd been using, followed by the gourd in question, which had been hollowed and now bore a grinning mouth and one eye. The outline for a second was drawn in marker, but thus far uncut. "What're ye talkin' about ye daft idiot? It's a perfectly fine jack-o-lantern!"  
  
"Are you kidding me? You were about to ruin it!" came the American's argument, picking up the knife and tossing it away. He lifted the pumpkin and smiled at it, reaching for the marker that still lay on the ground next to his partner. Uncapping it with his teeth, he hurriedly scrawled on the front of it, and drew a lop-sided circle around the top third of the gourd, setting it down in front of the Scotsman when he was satisfied.

Where the remaining eye had been drawn, Soldier had scribbled in a large black circle to cover it, and filled it in. A line ran from one corner of the circle around the pumpkin to the opposite corner, giving the jack-o-lantern an eyepatch to match his cheerful grin.  
Demoman's own smile matched as he tugged the American down for a kiss.


	7. cheeziswin

"And that is how you clean jams, though they are very rare. Sascha is reliable," Heavy explained, fitting back together the parts of his beloved minigun.

Sniper sat beside him on the giant's bed, chin propped in his hand, leaning on his thigh. His boredom was completely unmasked, completely naked just as much as the bushman himself was not, much to his own chagrin.

"Do you have any questions?" the Russian asked, smiling broadly to the lanky Australian beside him.

"Yeah, I do, mate. Do you realize exactly how misleading, 'Do you want to come to quarters and learn how to shoot my gun' is? When you say it after we finish snoggin' like a couple of teenagers?"  
  
Heavy's eyes went wide, his head craning back with surprise at the outburst. "Was done kissing. Wanted to talk about guns. How is this misleading?"

Laughing, Sniper crawled over to Heavy, brow quirking. "Because I'd rather shoot off a different gun of yours, mate."


	8. spookyfennec

"We could go to the drive-in, there is a double feature we both might enjoy this weekend," Spy posited, leafing through the newest edition of the Teufort Reader. He smiled over at Scout, sitting next to him, who just smiled back as he leaned against the table. "Or perhaps dinner first, for something better to eat than popcorn and hot dogs? I've found a restaurant you might enjoy. They serve both actual Italian food and that American dreck they pass for Italian, so neither of our tastes will be offended."

"Oh yeah?" Scout urged, watching Spy's mind churn as he chewed at the inside of his lip, ideas speeding through his head faster than the younger man could imagine. It was like watching a mental version of his own combat style.

"That tacqueria you and Sniper frequent, is that open in the evening? I haven't had Mexican food in quite some time! Dinner, cinema, and then a drive out amongst the stars before we retire to my quarters or yours? Or perhaps we should get a room in town?"

"Spy?"

The rogue looked up from his out-loud ponderings, the perfect night out he was organizing in his head, to see his lover smiling at him like he was a small animal doing something dumb but adorable. "Oui?"

"Yer cute."


	9. ashypeen

He wasn't sure how it had happened. He'd hated the tiny beast, clawing at the carpets and stealing scraps from the table, taking up all of the space in the bed so he was unable to move while they slept, and biting him when he touched it wrong. But the day it had left a mouse in front of the door of his camper, dead in the dry dust of the desert floor, it was the last straw.

Sniper knew what it meant. He was offended. So the next morning, when the cat walked out the door of Engineer's quarters to find a Gambel's quail, freshly killed, sitting on the hallway floor, the bushman crouched on the other side of it, staring the cat in the eyes unblinkingly, it knew exactly what that meant. Slowly, the cat blinked his eyes, and lowered its head. Sniper blinked as well, but did not cede power.

When he'd taken the quail outside to throw on a spit for lunch, the cat followed on his heels. Where normally it remained in the company of the Engineer over the course of the day, it now trailed Sniper, watching intently as he cooked and ate the bird. When the bushman noticed, he turned to his side, seeing the cat sitting there, watching intently, but not begging, he tore a chunk of meat off of the small bird and held it down for the cat. It eagerly snapped the meat out of his hand, careful not to bite what was feeding him, and gently bunted against his leg when he'd swallowed the small meal.

When Engineer found them that afternoon, Sniper had long since fallen asleep in his chair by the dying campfire, the black and white cat curled up in his lap, one calloused hand laying atop the little creature, fingers gently digging into the nape of its neck, halted in mid-scratch. The Texan smiled. His two hunters had found their common ground.


	10. happybraindeath

She would never admit it. Not when her fingers traced long, slim calves and thighs. Not when her lover's arms were raised. Not when she was buried between the Australian's thighs.

But for all of her posturing, her nostril-flaring and eyebrow quirking, Spy found herself completely enthralled by the sight of the soft, dark hair that shod all of the parts of Sniper which she was sure to cut clear on herself. Where society told her that a woman is smooth and silky, Sniper was a woman of texture, of nature, and of an unadulterated perfection that would seem criminal to clear-cut.

The simple fact remained that though she would grouse and tease, Spy was all too eager to bury her face in the thick dark hair nestled between Sniper's thighs in search of the treasure concealed within, breathing deep her scent and rejoicing.


	11. moofrog

It was almost a shame the sun rarely reached those shoulders and cheeks, Engineer, thought, though it might jostle the perfect equilibrium of pale skin and pinpricks of melanin that he adored so much.

Pyro's freckles were numerous, crossing his cheeks and nose, covering his shoulders and upper arms, and sprinkled along his arms, hands, and here and there on the rest of him. Engineer's eyes slowly swept over every last one, committing them to memory, just as he did every night while he waited for Morpheus to claim him, holding his already sleeping fire-starter tightly in his arms. He could see every tiny brown spot when he closed his eyes, and wanted to kiss every last one a thousand times. For now, he settled with the collection situated at the corner of Pyro's right eye, nuzzling in against his temple with a sleepy smile.


	12. sillyscrunchy

"So is he always a little shit with you, or is that just friends and family?" Scout's mother asked, making Spy double-take away from his glass of lemonade. "I mean, if he'd ever had any girlfriends I'd have asked them, but, well, yanno."

The Frenchman laughed a little, feeling his lover bristle, sitting on the couch beside him. "He would not be Scout if he were not," he searched for the right words, "lively, I suppose."

For his credit, Scout turned to look at his mother with wide eyes, the implications of her words slowly setting in. "Ma, did you just--"  
  
"Don't interrupt, honey. So, Spy, oh it feels weird calling you that."  
  
"Ah, but it is a requirement of my contract that my name not be known by coworkers or their family."

"So my Scooter doesn't even know your name? That's gotta make a relationship awkward."

"He knows, but we're not allowed to speak the names."  
  
"Him not allowed to say somethin'? Pfft, yeah, that's gonna work well. So how many times has he spilled the beans, then, huh?"

"MA!"

"Surprisingly few, though it is often when no one else can hear, anyway."

"SPY!"  
  
"Oh, sweetie, you are terrible," Scout's mother laughed, waving Spy off as she took a sip from her glass of wine.

"I'm happy to say I have never heard such things from your son, Madame," the rogue teased back, raising his lemonade as if to toast.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Scout bellowed, only to be silenced with a glare from his mother for cursing in the house.


	13. ashypeen

It had been a week since Spy had received the attention he wanted. Seven days since he found himself in Engineer's workshop, cuddled against him while he worked on whatever project he was working on, rough, broad hands sifting through his balaclava-mussed hair, scratching gently at his scalp behind his ear. Seven days since he would sit and hum and smile and just enjoy Engineer's company, comforted by the intermittent hugs he received during the course of the Texan's pondering and tinkering. Seven days since he'd fallen asleep, safely pressed against his back while he soldered and sketched.

All because of that stupid cat.

It had showed up on base, a stray little kitten, though more of a nine-month-old, nearly a grown cat by Spy's observation, black with a while tummy, paws, and muzzle. The little thing had taken an immediate shine to the laconic mechanic, scaling his overalls to take up residence in the empty ammo pouch slung on his belt. The fond chuckle and gentle scritches Engineer rewarded the kitten with had been enough to claim him, and it had become a matter of fact that the little creature was now Engie's Cat. He'd nicknamed the kitten his Pocket Purrer, after its favourite place to hide, and propensity for loud, table-rattling purrs of joy when afforded attention.

Attention Spy was no longer afforded.

So it came to be that he finally had had enough, and strolling casually into the work shop, Spy found his lover bent over a flat table with a blueprint rolled out on it, scratching his chin in thought. Striding up with purpose, the rogue scaled the desk in a quick movement, and laid across the blueprints, staring expectantly up at Engineer.

"What in tarnation are you doing?"

"If it requires being a cat to obtain your attention, then by all means, miaou."

"Spy, are you seriously jealous of Purr?"

"You have been giving that little beast all of your attention and I have received none."

"It's because he's an underweight stray who needs care, ya big baby. C'mere," Engineer laughed, leaning down to shower his lover in short, tender kisses. "Now I gotta do some body work on my sentry. Can I trust you do not lay on that when I'm weldin' it?"

"No promises."

"I love you too, Darlin'."

Watching Engineer pad over to the other side of the workshop and begin to set up his gear, Spy sighed and slipped from the desk into the now-empty chair. Tugging out a note pad, he began to idly doodle while he waited.

A loud rattling sound suddenly caught him by surprise. Looking around, he saw nothing, until a flash of black came out of nowhere, alighting on the desk in a smooth motion. Pocket Purrer had leapt from the floor, and was now slowly padding across the desk to look at what Spy was doing. The Frenchman ignored the little beast and went back to doodling, an attempt at rendering his lover from memory, though his facial anatomy was woefully out of practice.

Pocket Purrer quickly grew tired of following the pencil's flicks and swishes as Spy dragged it across the paper, and decided to take matters into his own paws. He wandered over to the pad of paper and laid down unceremoniously, staring up expectantly at Spy, still loudly purring away.

Spy smirked. Sussed at his own game. "Is this a taste of my own medicine?" he laughed, tickling beneath the kitten's chin. A smile slowly faded in across his face. "I have to say, I like your style, mon ami. It certainly gets results."


End file.
